Shannon
by Choirchick16
Summary: There's not a day that goes by that he doesn't think of her and what they were. Eleventh in my vocab oneshot series (no order)


**AN: So... School's done. I've had these written for awhile but... I'm going to blame AP testing for not getting these vocab oneshots posted, but really it was me just being lazy. This is the eleventh in my vocab oneshot series which have no order and no one fandom. Enjoy!**

 _Disclaimer: I wished I owned these characters..._

Shannon

Stillwater, Pennsylvania, July 1976. He would always remember it. Finally getting away from his dad. Finally at the train station to leave. Finally talking to her. Of course, he probably made a fool of himself at first. It was awkward; he wasn't sure what to say, yet he was worried that silence would just exacerbate the situation. Somehow it worked out. She sat next to him on the long train ride, and they talked. Talked about the little things that occurred in Stillwater, dreams they both had, where each was headed, her rules that she had made up.

He never thought it would amount to anything. He hoped to God that it would, but he had to be realistic. It would probably be a tenuous friendship; just two people that met at the train station from the same hometown. Nothing more. He was so surprised when after the train ride she asked where he was staying, so she could write to him. Even then, he expected it to be transient due to the long distance, but no. They kept in contact. Thank God that she kept in contact. She was there for him when his fellow marine died a year later. He took it hard, yet she was still there for him.

He got deployed, and during that time he treasured each of her missives even more. The day after he came home from his first deployment they went on a date. It was simple: dinner and a walk in a nearby park. He had been worried that he had changed too much while he was deployed. That they would have nothing in common anymore.

He didn't have to worry.

He was no longer the nervous enlistee on his way to basic training, nor was she the girl fresh out of a small Pennsylvania town. He had seen war, blood, death, and she had become an independent woman who wasn't intimidated by anything. Something clicked. Something that made them decide that it was worthwhile to foster their budding relationship.

It was two weeks after he had gotten home, and it was their third date with just the two of them. He had walked her to her apartment door and was about to leave. He still remembers what she said, "Well, are you going to kiss me good-night or not?"

It was so her. She was making her own path and disregarding feminist social norms. The relationship flourished from that night. They had their ups and downs, but it was mostly a steady incline up. It was difficult coordinating schedules due to his deployments and her working hours, but they managed. In 1982 he finally was able to get a ring on her finger.

It was a difficult decision on his part, and he had spent a long flight home ruminating about asking her. His work wasn't exactly the safest; the possibility of him being killed overseas was higher than either liked to think about. At one point he had even asked her why she trusted him so much given that he was away so often. She laughed at him. She then rambled on about some of the mores of marines: fidelity, integrity, honesty. He loved her so much.

The wedding was a blur to him. He didn't remember what color the napkins were or what the seating arrangement was. He just remembered her. Beautiful auburn hair covered in a lace veil while she wore a floor length white dress. She was gorgeous. What else could he need in life when he had her?

He was actually deployed when his commander called him into the secured base. Anxiety flooded his system; he racked his brains trying to figure out how he had messed up with protocol. He was filled with dread when they told him that there was a video message for him. He prepared for the worst. When her face appeared on the screen, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was a bad idea given that he couldn't breathe the next moment when she said the two magical words.

His commander informed him that they would arrive back home a day after her due date. He hoped to God that she would be late. He ended up at the hospital just in time, still in uniform. Kelly. _His_ daughter. She was just as precious and just as beautiful as her mother.

It was difficult. He wanted to be there for every moment, every milestone, but he wasn't. He wasn't deployed as often as a Gunnery Sergeant, but the ops had a greater fatality risk. It's what he did though. It was who he was.

February 29, 1991. He still curses the day and Operation Desert Storm. He wasn't there. He should have been there. His wife was still as stubborn as always and had a just as strong moral compass; so when she witnessed the murder of a marine committed by a Mexican drug dealer, she felt it was her duty to testify. The man had escaped conviction before because of prevaricating and lack of evidence, but now she could authenticate that he needed to be behind bars. His wife and daughter were in protective custody, but it didn't help. The man had their driver shot, and his girls didn't survive the subsequent crash.

Empty. He was in Kuwait when he received the call. Broken. He still had a mission to complete. Numb. The bomb blast put him in a coma for nineteen days.

When he got back to the states the investigation was over. No conviction. His wife of nine years was gone. His eight year old daughter was gone. There was no closure.

The trip to Mexico and the bullet gave him a little of what needed though.


End file.
